


DARLA WAITING. 3btvs-ats-ucsl

by iskierka



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:18:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iskierka/pseuds/iskierka





	DARLA WAITING. 3btvs-ats-ucsl

Title: Darla Waiting  
Author: Briar  
feedbackable at o0briar0o@yahoo.com  
Rating: G  
Distribution: take w/ headers if you want this. ;) I  
don't know why.  
Note: Narf! it's a poem. It would be "Lady in  
Waiting" 'cause that sounds more posh and lofty, but  
it would also be a lie.  
Disclaimer: do you know the muffinman-song? if so,  
humm in head~ It all belongs/ to the Numfar-man/ the  
Numfar-man/ the Numfar-man...  
Summary: so she got away. but how does it feel?  
~

 

She will be waiting  
in the shady places  
dead, and dead  
and deader still.

Crimson lips  
upturned in sneer,  
a whore,  
a multitude of sins.

Bloodlust turning  
into ash, [Again?  
But I am moving,  
waiting...]  
nothing to live for  
[die for, neither]  
but the next fated  
trick  
of  
hope? [no; it's been still  
far  
longer than four  
centuries]  
a slight of hand  
in this,  
the game of unlife  
which she never wins.

The sun is not  
remembered, and  
the moon has flown.  
She's on her own.

Black as smoldered  
coal and fawning  
for the Master  
to push her down,  
for the boy she'd  
never dared to call  
Beloved.

Lost and whining  
birds calling  
shrieking  
for their dead  
and eaten mates,  
plucked over by  
the vultures  
in their macabre  
feast: she is  
as lost as these,  
but dirtier.

Remembering  
an iron claw  
holding its victim  
captive; once,  
she was the one  
who held the throat  
and tore it out.

What happens to  
conviction?  
The rips and shreds,  
the hot gush-  
bruises like ripe fruit-  
were mauling  
banshee echoes.

Howling,  
lightning swift-

Reverberations  
which ruled the world.

Tonight she creeps;  
a quiet death.

Now, it is as if  
the nights crawl by  
like leaden parasites  
affixed to her skin,  
like shackles or  
a drape of rotting  
flesh-- weighing her  
down as anchors do.

She never flew,  
but she imagines that  
she did.

She is waiting  
in the shady places  
dead, and dead  
and deader still.


End file.
